


Catch me

by Fawkespryde



Series: October Spookfest Prompts 2019 [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Sideshow - Fandom
Genre: Ao3 on mobile is hard to work with, Continuation of the Serial Killer Au, House break in, Minor Drug Use, Minor Violence, Multi, No Sex, October spookfest, Rough Kissing, Thank you for the patience while i dealt with tags, detective criken, serial killer bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 21:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20955056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fawkespryde/pseuds/Fawkespryde
Summary: ‘My dearest detective,Sending you the warmest of wishes on this Halloween.Missing you terribly so, B’





	Catch me

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are gonna be messy for a bit because im on mobile and ao3 wont let me type in the tags. I really dont understand it.. 
> 
> Serial kill au, detective criken, killer bed, rough handling, chloroform, no sex

Whoever said being a detective instead of cop was easier obviously did not live the life that Criken did. True it did not come with the same ceaseless amounts of rules and regulations that policing did but it also meant that he didn’t have as much pull anymore when it came to gathering information. He had been trying for the past two weeks to try and get security footage from a nearby convenience store because of the small trace of information that they might have. Had a murder occured on film? No but if his assumption was correct then there would have been evidence left behind leading to the man at large. Evidence that a serial killer who had been in the process of disposing of the body may have driven their vehicle there to stop for gas. He could have used that security footage to get the license plate number and…

Criken grit his teeth at that trailing though. There was no point in getting his hopes up. They had already stated time and time again that he was not welcome to even take a peek at the recordings. Not even a glance. His reputation was slowly going down the drain and he was getting taken less and less seriously every day. 

He stormed into his apartment building from the drizzling rain outside and flicked his collar twice to get the water to shake off the waterproof material. Luckily he had gotten in just before the rain had gotten too bad. Last time he had been coming home, he had gotten soaked from head to toe from a car driving full tilt into a nearby pothole full of water. That evening had thoroughly sucked, especially because he had to dry off numerous sensitive documents over the radiator, hoping that he could stop the ink from bleeding out too badly. 

A few of the other residents gave him a casual glance as he passed them by and went to open his mailbox in the lobby. He heard the whispers and sniggers that were obviously aimed in his direction. They were talking low enough that he couldn’t hear what they were saying but at this point, he didn’t need to hear them to know what was being said. Once he removed the piles of envelopes and began sorting through them quietly to himself, the volume picked up into sniggers of laughter. Criken tried to keep his cool as he sifted through one red stamped envelope after another. Bills, they were all bills. From the sound of things, even his neighbours knew how deep in the hole he was getting. 

Criken glanced over just as they looked away and he bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything he shouldn’t. He shoved his bills into his satchel and walked over to press the elevator button. The light lit up signalling it was on the eighth floor but the elevator didn’t show any signs of moving from the floor it was on. While waiting, Criken tore open the only envelope that had looked personal out of the bunch of bills. It had a handwritten address on the front so he had high hopes that maybe this was the big break he was looking for. 

The letter inside was written in fanciful cursive with big looping letters and spacing that made the three lines of text take up the whole page. Criken’s hopes were immediately dashed at the sight of the contents and his temper grew at the taunting words. He almost tore the paper up right then and there.

‘My dearest detective,

Sending you the warmest of wishes on this Halloween.

Missing you terribly so, B’

Criken felt the vein on his forehead pulsate in anger and he had to take a few breaths to calm down. What was it his doctor said? Breathing exercises.. Right. How was that supposed to work when he had a serial killer sending him taunting pieces of mail. He glared up at the elevator once more to try and distract himself from the image of Bed laughing maniacally while mailing this letter to him. Cocky bastard had even used priority shipping to get it to him on the same day. Just how much money was this insane prick rolling in?

The elevator hadn’t moved from the eighth floor since he arrived. Looks like it was out of service and no one bothered to put a sign up again. He glanced at his wrist watch and with a sigh, walked over towards the stairs. What a great way to end an already miserable day. He pushed open the stairwell door, stepped over a disgusting puddle of something he couldn’t hope to identify and turned his nose up at the sour smell. He held his sleeve up to his face and hopped over what he assumed was drunk vomit and began the slow climb upwards.

The lighting was horrible and flickered several times so he had to keep a hand on the metal railing as he went up. He almost passed by his floor because of his distracted thoughts and paused just as he set his foot onto the next step before realizing what he did. Criken sighed, turned around and opened the door to his floor, passing by flickering lights and chipped wall paint as he went. Three door and a left turn put him in front of his apartment. A flyer hung off his door handle for some nobody candidate running for elections in his area. 

He tore it off and reached with his other hand into his pocket to find his keys. The ring was covered in several that he had acquired over the years and just didn't have the patience to remove them. Out of the dozens of keys on his ring, he only ever used four of them anymore but it made him feel some semblance of importance to be carrying so many of them. Even if most of them were secret duplicates that he had made for his own personal collection. He quietly thanked his old Police Captain for not asking if he had made any copies of his old work keys when he left the force. He doubted he would have been able to lie to that man and get away with it.

Criken flipped through several silver keys till he came to one that had a bit of green paint flaked in the grains of the teeth. A reminder of the time he tripped while chasing a criminal through an alleyway into a stacked up pile of paint buckets. It had taken far too long to scrub the oil based paints out of his hair and clothes. He frowned in recollection and entered his apartment, tossing his keys onto the shelf nearby and locking the door behind him. 

Taking the satchel off his shoulder after wearing it all day was a relief and he let out a content sigh as he hung it up on the hook. His jacket went next and he made sure the water running off the jacket wouldn’t ruin the floors by placing a towel underneath it. Next, he kicked off his shoes and quietly mourned the nice leather as he put them in the shoe rack, hoping they wouldn’t be too badly warped from being soaked.

From the sounds of things, his heating was still on so that was a plus. Maybe if he was lucky, his water bill wasn’t due yet and he’d be able to have a hot shower this evening before falling into a restless sleep. It wasn’t going to be the most comfortable of evenings, especially since his last cheque was still strained after having to pay the rest of his rent but he had been a college student before. He knew what it was like to live off cup noodles for months on end. That’s pretty much what his shelves were stocked with anymore.

Criken started to unbutton the front of his vest when he heard a soft creak in his living room. The lights were all off and while it could have been a noise from the actual building itself he highly doubted it. He had lived here for years, he knew the sounds of his apartment very well. His hand lowered from the buttons and started to slowly find their way down to his belt where his revolver was hidden. He backed up two steps to put distance between him and whoever was in his living room when an arm hooked around his throat from behind and pulled him backwards into the chest of a well built individual. 

He barely got a choked cry out as he was pulled off balance for a second. His toes lifted off the ground before he managed to kick out and get them back onto solid ground. Criken gritted his teeth against the headlock and struggled, his lungs aching from lack of oxygen. He threw out his limbs as best as he could against the person behind him and slammed his head backwards into his assailants face. His head impacted with a crack that had him grinning in sick satisfaction even as the dizziness set in from the attack. The arms loosened around his throat and sweet oxygen filled his lungs again, the black dots in his vision fading as he could finally breathe again. One last wrench of his body had him falling from that heavy grip and onto the living room floor.

He gasped and spit out blood, having bitten his tongue in the struggle. His eyes watered and his hands stung from the impact on the hardwood as he tried to crawl away from his assailant. The person behind him reached down with a snarl and grabbed a handful of his hair, painfully jerking it back and forcing his gaze to the ceiling of his apartment. He choked out a cry and reached desperately around for something to defend himself when he heard a noise cut into the sounds of their struggles. 

Someone was clapping, slowly like the scene was an amusing display of sorts. It didn’t take long for Criken’s darting gaze to find the source. Especially when they flicked a switch next to them and turned on the light. Sitting under the soft glow of his reading lamp, one leg crossed over the other was none other than Bed. He was reclined like he hadn’t a care in the world and tilted his head down to look at Criken through a pair of rimless glasses. His glasses to be precise.

“Well, well.. Detective. I hope you don’t mind the forced intrusion on my behalf. After being apart for so long, I just couldn’t refrain any longer and had to come see you.” Bed grinned, lifting the glasses delicately off his face and folding them with methodical motions before setting it down on the table beside him. “Although for reasons I can’t comprehend, it seems that my key no longer works anymore.”

Criken swore under his breath and moved to stand up but was held in place by the grip in his hair. He settled for gritting his teeth and glaring at him, not dignifying the serial killer with a response. It hadn’t been the first time that Bed decided to ‘bump’ into him while he was out in the public eye and untouchable. But this, coming to his home and breaking in, was new. He had thought that he was safe here. After moving three times in the last few months, he thought he had finally found a place where Bed couldn’t find him and egg him on for his numerous failed attempts at catching him. 

He had even changed his locks methodically, believing that to be the solution to all his problems but from the looks of things, Bed didn’t care about a wooden door getting in his way. And even worse, he was not above hiring help. Criken rubbed his aching throat and glared up at Bed. Who the hell did he hire, the hulk?

“What’s the matter? You look… surprised.” Bed uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. His all knowing smirk widened as realization must have been written all over Criken’s face. “Oh, it must be the new haircut. What do you think?” He tilted his head back and let out a little gleeful giggle, his hand running through his hair. Indeed, the sides were a lot shorter than they were the last time they had met. It made him look much younger, it was actually kind of startling.

Criken felt the figure behind him let go of his hair in favour of gripping both his forearms. He was pulled up into a kneeling position before Bed and forced to hold it. His struggles were met with fierce resistance that he couldn’t break free from. “What do you want? Haven’t you tormented me enough?” He sneered, refusing to show any sign of fear in the face of the serial killer. If he was going to finally die, he was going to do it with his head held high.

“What’s wrong Crikey?” Bed mocked in a babying tone. He got up from his comfortable position and closed the distance between the two of them in a single stride. Once in front of Criken, he lowered himself to a crouch and raised an index finger to coax the detectives head up more. “You act like you don’t miss me? Have you really gone soft since we last saw each other?”

His words were met with a wad of spit as Criken lashed out at him the only way he was capable of doing. Bed’s expression didn’t change even as the saliva dripping down the side of his face but he went very still. Like the calm before the storm, Criken only had a second to see the dilation of his pupils before his head whipped to the side painfully from the backhand he received. He reeled from the blow but was pulled back up into an upright position by the man crouched behind him.

Criken didn’t yell in pain but the sharp exhale that fell from his lips was enough to deepen the amused grin on Bed’s face. His face was taken in Bed’s hands and he was forced to meet his gaze. Those clear blue eyes were darting across his features, taking in every ounce of pain that had taken root there. He watched with strange transfixion as Bed slowly shifted his expression to replicate the one that Criken had on his face. 

The pantomimed grimace remained on Bed’s face for only a few seconds more before it fell in favour of the amused grin again. He wiped away the spit with the back of his hand, the motion slow and calculated as his gaze slowly danced over Criken’s body.

“You do make the most loveliest of faces.” Bed cooed, starting a slow motion of stroking Criken’s cheeks with his thumb. He hummed to himself in agreement of his own statement and giggled, his gaze shifting to glance over his shoulder. “Johan, be a dear and relieve our good detective of his weapon. Still using that Colt Python?”

The man behind Criken stole away his gun with one meaty hand and tossed it with a grunt towards Bed, who caught it and playfully passes it back and forth between both hands with a gleeful expression on his face. “You look upset, my dear. Is it something I said?”

Criken glared at him but chose to bit his lip, not wanting to give him any satisfaction from disarming him so easily.

“So glad I brought Johan after all. Guns are so boring and not to mention loud.” Bed opened the cylinder of the gun with a flick of the wrist and aimed the barrel to the ceiling. The bullets fell out and clattered to the floor. Once it was empty, he shrugged and tossed the empty gun over his shoulder without a care in the world. “Now, knives on the other hand. Those are fun… more intimate.”

“What are you talking about?” Criken gritted out, tilted his head away from Bed’s hand as it approached to grab hold of his chin again. He watched the serial killer’s smile grow sharp at the motion and his heart raced at the sight of it. He felt like prey caught in the grasp of a predator, unable to escape even if he wanted to. “What are planning you conniving bastard?!”

“Oh, conniving.. Haven’t heard that endearment used in a long time. I almost miss it.” Bed gave him a look like he was undressing him before his very eyes. His pupils were dilated but his expression had become that soft, content mask that he wore whenever he was faced with a challenge. He looked like he was calculating in his head the best way to take Criken apart bit by bit. “Almost as much as I missed you.”

Criken sneered and leaned as far back away from Bed as he could. He did not like the look he was giving him at all. He glared at him in disgust and squirmed even more in his assailants grasp. “You’re fucking sick Bed.”

With a disappointed sigh, Bed rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the man still holding Criken from behind. “But it’s been so long, my dear sweet detective. Don’t you miss our games? Don’t you miss me?”

“Go to hell!” Criken yelled back, face growing red in anger. His retorts were cut off by Bed who had taken his face in both hands again and pressed another kiss to his lips. He flinched and curled his nose up in refusal to cooperate but Bed didn’t let up. A hand snuck up from his cheek to thread in his hair and grab a rough handful. It was painful and elicited a yelp that Bed took full advantage of. His noises were muffled against his lips as Bed deepened the kiss. Once that tongue slipped in, his defiance reared up again and had him biting down on it.

Bed pulled away with a moan and stared at him with dangerously dilated blue eyes. He looked like he had enjoyed the rough treatment a little too much for Criken’s comfort. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip before he let an insane burst of laughter spill from his lips. Standing up and pulling back, he did a little twirl before extending a hand out towards Criken like he was asking him to dance. “There it is. There is that fire, that passion.” His voice lowered to a purr. “And here I thought it had been extinguished under the weight of your tedious day to day.” 

He nodded and suddenly Criken was being hoisted up to his feet again. The man holding onto him picked him up effortlessly and began the process of moving him from the living room into the hallway. Criken’s shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor as he was forcefully dragged, the tips of his toes being the only thing that could touch the ground. 

“Dammit Bed! You can’t do this! If I go missing, people will know!” He was hoisted up higher and inevitably tossed over the brutes shoulder. He beat his fists along the man’s back but it was like punching a brick wall, there was no way to get him to let go. His heartbeat was slamming against his ribcage in panic as he recalled all the photographs he had seen of Bed’s crime scenes. He knew what the man was capable of. He knew that he could push his torture on for days before finishing the job. Even worse, he had lied through his teeth about people knowing if he went missing and from the small smile he received in response, Bed knew it too. If he went missing no one would know until his body ended up being discovered in a nearby park.

“Who said anything about going missing?” Bed followed behind the two of them at a casual pace, glancing around the place like he hadn’t been camping in Criken’s home waiting for him to return for who knows how long. He traced a finger over a picture as he passed by and forced it off the nail, letting the image of Criken with his old police department fall to the ground. The glass cracked from the impact but Bed didn’t have the shame to even look slightly guilty.

Criken glared at him and pointed at him in irritation. “Seriously?!” His fear of death was only outmatched by his frustration at how Bed was treating him. He wanted nothing more than to claw at Bed and strangle him for his behaviour. Just as he was letting lose another string of insults, he was tossed like a sack of potatoes onto the bed. He let out a yelp as his body bounced once before settling.

He looked up from his spot to get a good look at the man who had been holding him captive through Bed’s tormenting thus far. He was a tall hulking form of a man that was built like a square with fists the size of meathooks. The man had a constant sneer carved on his face by the various scars that littered his skin like a ruined canvas and the bulk of his muscles were barely restrained behind the sleeveless top and suspenders. All in all, Criken was in full panic mode. He had no idea how Bed managed to find such a dangerous looking man.

“Johan, do make sure our sweet detective is settled in.” Bed patted the giant of a man on the shoulder and left the bedroom without another word. His humming got fainter as he made his way down the hall and back into the living room.

The bulky figure extended a hand forward, pointed at Criken and then the bed with a scowl on his face. “Stay.” He growled out in some semblance of the word. His voice was like the growl of a rabid beast, barely forming the statement and trailing off with a grumble that reverberated in his chest. His arms then crossed as if daring him to argue with him. 

Criken stared at him for a long time and decided after a few moments that it wasn’t worth being torn limb from limb so he just shakily nodded and waited for Bed, who came skipping into the room a few seconds later with his satchel in his hands. “What are you doing?!” He immediately made the motions to get up at the sight of his bag being pilfered before he met the glare of Bed’s huge guard. He immediately sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“Boring, boring..” Bed flipped through the various files that Criken had stored in his bag. He thumbed through a handful of photos before tossing those over his shoulder. “And this isn’t even my handiwork. You’ve certainly been slacking since we’ve last seen each other.”

“Yeah, no shit. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know.” Criken reached forward from where he was sitting and managed to catch one photo that had been fluttering to the ground. He held it up and grimaced at the sight of it. Domestic cases weren’t his favourite because of how messy they always got in the end. But he made a promise that he would help out and he was not going to let his reputation suffer further for ignoring the call of an abuse victim. “In case you weren’t aware. There are other people that need my help. So as much as I’d love to give you the chase you desire. I sort of have bills to pay.”

As Criken was talking, Bed took the various bills out of the bag and began sifting through them. His gaze was just as focused as earlier when he had been staring at Criken. After a few moments, his eyes lifted up from the envelopes and locked onto the detective sitting nervously at the foot of the bed. “No no.. That won’t do at all.”

“What do you mean ‘that won’t do’?” Criken was getting irate again at his cryptic words. He glanced over at the large man still glaring at him and decided to risk it, bolting up to a standing position. “You think you can, what, bully me into giving you what you want? That’s not how this works and no amount of… intimidation is going to work.” He glanced sideways at the brute that gritted his teeth and rose a fist as him threateningly.

Criken took another step forward and was met with the point of a knife under the chin. Bed had flicked it out from under his sleeve so easily, he hadn’t even caught the flash of metal before the sharp edge was pressed to his throat. He stared up at Bed to see him casually glancing between him and the pile of bills with a casual glance. Criken lifted a hand and grabbed the blade but not to get it away from himself. He pulled it closer till the tip was gently indenting into his skin.

“If you’re going to do it, then fucking do it.” Criken ground out. He could tell that things had suddenly shifted between the two of them because Bed had immediately turned his attention to him and was staring at the way the knife was pressed inwards but not quite deep enough to draw blood. “I’ve had it with the games and the chases, the letters… the jests and the threats. I won’t do it anymore.”

Bed stared at him for a long time saying nothing, those blue eyes still staring at the shine of the blade at his skin. He took that as a good sign to continue. “I work myself tirelessly for days on end. Sometimes I don’t eat, I don’t sleep. I hear the way people talk about me, the laughter, the seething remarks.. The hours are long and sometimes I don’t come back with anything in my hands but disappointment and slowly dwindling hope that-” 

He choked on those last words and closed his eyes, steadying himself before he continued. “-hope that what I am doing is the right thing. I trained to do the right thing. I became a cop to do the right thing. I left when I wasn’t doing the right thing and even as a detective I still hold those values high. I won’t let you play me for a fool anymore. I can't afford-”

Criken felt the blade retract an inch and loosened his grip on it so it would slide from his grip without drawing blood. He hadn’t realized he had started crying till Bed’s hand rose up to stroke a cheek. A gasp fell from his lips before he could hold it in and he only caught sight of concerned blue eyes for a moment before he was pulled into an embrace that swept him up in a tornado of messy thoughts. He hiccuped once before those warm lips met his again and unlike last time, he melted into the comfort of them.

He was backed up onto the bed and laid back so the man could straddle his waist. Criken looked up at him and turned red at the intense look Bed was giving him. His lower lip trembled and his head tilted as that grin found the crook of his throat to nip and suck at. A pained hiss escaped him at the feeling of a sharp prick and his eyes that had slowly been fluttering shut, shot open again. 

Straddling his waist and looking down at him with a devious smirk was Bed ad in his hand was a needle of unknown origins. The glass vial was empty. Criken’s hand slapped to his neck to feel where the needle had gone in and panicked. He began to struggle in fear and his arms were held down by Bed, who cooed soft noises into his ear. Tears continued to fall and the room started to spin. It was becoming harder to focus on the sights and sounds around him, the only colour in his vision being blue. The blue of Bed’s eyes being the last thing he saw before passing out.

***

Criken woke up in a start and shot up from his bed. His chest heaved and his eyes darted in every which way, scared of what he’d see. Surprisingly enough, his room was completely empty. In fact, it looked almost like no one had been here to begin with. His hand stroked the curve of his throat but didn’t feel any remnants of a needle prick along his skin. He got out of bed and padded across his room to seek out any evidence of his house being broken into. Had Bed actually been here or was he losing his mind?

He passed by the picture frame in the hallway and saw it was hanging up. His fingers traced over the image with a soft nostalgic smile and let out a breath of relief. Maybe it had been a trick on his mind. Before turning away, his eyes caught sight of something on the floor and he rose a confused brow. Crouching, Criken found a small sliver of glass that had been missed by what appeared to be a hasty clean up attempt. His eyes narrowed and he stood back up, glaring at the picture frame. He took it off the wall and rotated it in his hands. Even the weight of it felt different. The entire glass and frame was different. The picture was still the same but..

Criken’s eyes widened nervously and he ran into the living room, tossing the photo onto the couch as he passed by it. His satchel was sitting innocently in the middle of the room on the floor. He approached it with the caution that one had when approaching a bomb and gently took the leather bag in both hands. He was about to open it when there was a knock at the door. Criken waited a second and held his breath, eyes staring at the door in worry.

After a few more seconds, another knock sounded. He stood up and carried the bag with him to the door and hung it back on the hook before peaking through the eye hole. There was a woman on the other side of the door, holding a parcel in her hands and wearing a delivery uniform. With hesitation, Criken slowly unlocked the door and opened it an inch.

“Hello, sign here.” She offered him a digital display with a tablet pen attached. Her detached disposition was one of a worker that was just doing her job and wanted to get it over with. When Criken took the pen, she snapped her gum and started to sift through her bag to grab something else. She pulled out an envelope and flipped it in her hands to read the address before handing it over. “Oh, and this is yours too.”

“What is this? I didn’t order anything…” Criken stumbled over his words, trying to keep up with her. He signed the pad and she took it back with a shrug. 

“Look, I’m just here to delivery. If you have any issues, take it up with management.” She snapped her gum once more, passed him the parcel and envelope and turned to leave. Without another word, she was down the hallways and knocking on someone else's door.

Criken stood there for a long time in disbelief before going back into his apartment and shutting the door. He contemplated the package quietly as he walked to his office desk. His steps immediately stopped as he recognized the swooping big cursive lettering that had become a staple of Bed’s taunting letters. He contemplated just tossing the package and letter in the garbage but curiosity quickly got the better of him.

He took a knife to the edge of the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. Unfolding it revealed the fanciful handwriting belonging to none other than Bed. He read the letter, paused and furrowed his brow, then read it again. Criken blinked and read it a third time to see if what was written there was truly what he was seeing. It just seemed so surreal.

‘To my dearest detective,

There’s no rhyme or reason for a game if both players do not partake. Please look after yourself, I would be saddened greatly if you decided to leave me so soon.

In regards, B’

Criken shook his head at the fancy words and broke through the taped box with his knife. He unsealed it slowly, lifting the flaps to look inside. His brow raised in confusion at the sight of vhs tapes and audio cassettes. There were piles of manilla folders underneath that and each one felt full of papers. He pulled out several of them and began flipping through them, his eyes growing wider and wider as he realized what he was looking at.

Audio recordings, security footage, birth records. Everything that he could get access to before was all right here at his fingertips. He didn’t know whether to squander the gif given or cry in delight. For months he had been hitting brick wall after brick wall. But now, with this, maybe he could do some good. 

Maybe, just maybe.. Bed wasn’t so bad.


End file.
